


Someone Forgotten, Someone Near

by Blunky



Category: My Friend Pedro (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 16:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20745026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blunky/pseuds/Blunky
Summary: Pedro's Friend reflects on things he doesn't remember while his dong happens to be out.





	Someone Forgotten, Someone Near

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom needed more fics, so I was obligated to write some moody smut. This is just how I show appreciation for cool games, it seems ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Also hello people who know me from tumblr who might end up seeing this eventually.

His breathing came muffled from under his mask.

The mask kept puffing out and sucking back to his skin, sweaty and uncomfortable against his neck. But he didn't remove it, the thought never crossed his mind to take it off. It was a part of him.

It was loud against his ears, fogging up his lenses, but still he could see Pedro, hear Pedro. Nothing could block that out for him. In this lone room in the abandoned side of town, it was only them, and only their noises.

Pedro watched, of course. There was nothing wrong with that. They were friends, knew each other intimately in ways that he would never be able to explain. When he looked at Pedro, he could see the face of his friend, and see the face of someone he's known for a long time, someone important, someone whose memories he couldn't grasp.

It didn't matter. He didn't need specifics to know that he knew Pedro, that he could trust him.

"You've been pushing yourself a lot lately."

It's true, he knew he was, somewhere deep down. There was a tightness in his chest he couldn't shake, something in his head that burned the front of his skull, ever since he found himself out here. He found himself in lots of strange places with little recollection of what happened between locations. Pedro would fill him in, though. Every time. That's what Pedro told him. He was kind to him like that.

"It's ok, though. You can crash here and take a break. You're doing a good job."

He had his shirt pulled up just enough to give his hand access to himself. His pants undone, his dick pulled through the slot of his boxers. He had worked himself up quickly, but now was slowing down, letting himself take it all in, finding the way he enjoyed touching himself as opposed to just finding the fastest way to the end.

Faintly, in the distance, a siren echoed through the streets. Someone hurt, maybe, someone dying, someone sick. Someone shot, someone bleeding, someone close, someone-

"Hey."

He looked to Pedro again, reorienting himself, refocusing. Pedro gave him that small smile. It's familiar, it anchored him there. He felt himself in the room again, on the couch with the missing back cushions, the street light filtering inside through that cracked window. He swiped his thumb over the head of his cock and both he and Pedro let out a small breath.

"That's it. No use getting caught up on the unimportant things, right?"

He dropped his leg from the couch to brace against the carpet, opening himself up just that bit more. He shut his eyes, tilting his head back and doing the motion with his thumb again. It seemed to work for him well, in a way that he knew would work but in a way that he was rediscovering all of this. He couldn't remember much, not about this, not about before. He wasn't sure before what, but there was a before. Before he got here, before this moment.

Even with his eyes closed he could tell Pedro had moved, somewhere to his right now. Closer. Not too close, not within reach. He could already feel the beginning of Pedro's voice before it reached his ears, and he tilted his head towards his friend before Pedro started talking again.

"Doesn't matter where we'll go. We'll always have each other, we can get away from here and we'll make it on our own."

The words were so familiar, like they were coming from his own mouth. He wasn't speaking, of course. It was Pedro. His friend, who's been there since the start. Who knew what he was thinking, who had his own life before and who spoke of it sometimes. Even when the stories didn't line up, even when the stories conflicted with each other. He knew they had to all be true regardless, they simply felt that way. That was Pedro's life, despite how the line between his own and Pedro's seemed so blurred. Despite how he couldn't even remember his own life. Just this. Here, now. What were they saying again?

The mask clung to him and he breathed heavily. Pedro breathed heavily. How? No, it must have just been his own breathing. He was losing himself in all of this, and Pedro was ever present, always there.

"I like it when you do it that way."

He couldn't help but speed up again, to finish this sooner as he felt the ghost of fingers on him, the shrouded memory of something he used to enjoy. The voice so familiar and so near, he would reach out for its owner if his hand wasn't already busy.

"You're amazing."

He could nearly picture it, someone under him or over him or next to him. Someone he knew. Someone he was going to have a life with, that he had a life with. Close, closer. They were so close. He needed them, he needed this.

"Don't stop..."

The voice in his ear or his head or wherever it was, it didn't matter, but it spurred him on. His chest ached with something distant and forgotten and he felt his end coming up quick. He beat himself off, feeling the pleasure spike through him, and he tensed, letting out a small, muffled groan as his hand slowed and stopped when the touch became too much.

"I'll see you later, okay?"

He kept his eyes screwed shut, so tight it pulled at the pain behind his skull. His breathing was ragged, his body slowly untensed. The drop that brushed his ear before hitting the arm of the couch distantly told him he was crying. For what? For who?

He didn't know. And that same distant sense told him he didn't want to know.

He opened his eyes and couldn't see anything, not through the fogged lenses of his mask. Everything was quiet, save for his own breathing. Always his own breathing. Pedro wasn't there. Without him, what was he?

Some guy in some building on some couch in some city. Hot, sweaty, and with a shirt that needed changing but with nothing to be changed with. Where was he? Nothing was specific enough, he couldn't grasp it. There just wasn't anything without Pedro there to speak to him, to speak for him, to order his thoughts and order his body.

So he waited, letting his hand hang over the side of the couch. He was boneless and he was tired. Exhausted. The tightness in his chest subsided enough for only the pain in his head to be his focus. The ever present feeling of something missing, something wrong in a way that made it hard to focus on much else aside from the pain that embodied that sense.

In the back of his mind he knew he wasn't going to remember this. That this was part of a series of moments he didn't know when they started or when they would end. When he would start thinking again later, repeating this cycle of feeling and glimpsing only the vaguest memories as they slipped away from him.

He didn't even think he would sleep, could he even sleep? Maybe. He wouldn't know. This could be the dream already and it wouldn't change a thing.

So he stayed there, listening to his breathing. Thinking and not thinking. Waiting for that voice and face to come back to him, to help him get to wherever he was going next.

**Author's Note:**

> Was basing this on my headcanon where Pedro is the vigilante's projection of both himself and the memories of someone the vigilante knew before he lost his grasp with reality.


End file.
